“Indeed,” Joan agreed.

Soon they turned the corner that led them to the square where Rowles’s mother’s town house was located. Already the mourners were collected outside, lining the street. Black carriages were driven by Friesian horses with the customary black ostrich feather in their headbands. Jobbers stood by the horses, keeping them calm. The mutes waited by the front steps, near the six pages who were all dressed in black from head to toe. It was impressive, the number of people waiting to mourn the duchess. Regardless that most were hired, it was still an impressive number and a glorious tribute that Rowles had created for his mother.

Their carriage paused before the jobbers and rolled to a stop. One of the Westmore footmen stepped from the stairs and helped them from the carriage, then escorted their party to the front door and the awaiting butler. Joan looked around her, noting all the small details that would make the whole day even more memorable.

It would be lovely, if it wasn’t a funeral.

Joan followed her brother down the hall and up the stairs. Black baize fabric was draped over every chair and table lining the hall as they approached the late duchess’s final rooms. A nurse stood, disappeared into the dark room, then returned. Rowles followed her into the hall.

“Morgan, Lady Joan,” Rowles said gently, as if they were the ones in mourning, not him.

Joan wanted to rush forward, place a hand on his shoulder or his cheek, and study his expression. Was he truly as well as he appeared to be? What exactly was going on in that beloved mind of his? Yet decorum reminded her to wait, to observe from a polite distance rather than be invasive.

“Your Grace.” She used his formal title, as was necessary for the occasion. Offering a curtsy, she stood and came to stand beside him. “Are you well?” she asked softly.

“I’m better now,” he offered, then reached down and grasped her hand. Lifting it, he placed a soft kiss on her gloved fingers. “Your presence is like a balm to my very soul.”

Joan put on a brave face, but the concern lingered. A balm she might be, but that didn’t eliminate the pain. “We are thankful to be here with you, to share in this with you.”

“I’m blessed.” Rowles nodded, then turned to Morgan. “Thank you.”

“You’ve stood beside me often enough. I could do no less, my friend.”

Rowles nodded and a nurse came from the darkened room. “Your Grace, all is ready.”